Jetrall's Story
by Slinker
Summary: Tale of the mighty Barbarian Warrior Jetrall, from his beginnings in the Barbarian stronghold, Mount Arreat, to his conflicts with the Three Prime Evils.


**PROLOGUE **

Jetrall's scar burned as the salt water rolled across it. The man of stone had finally cracked. His knees ached and his calf muscles burned as the red scaly foot crunched the pebbles and fragments of bone before him. A deep, booming laugh resonated throughout the Sanctuary. Jetrall stared into her eyes. The deep blue began to fade from her pupil's, his own reflection terrifyingly clear. He could see his teeth grind together. It was not right. It was not her time.

"Now her pain shall know no bounds, for in death the souls I have slain become mine…"

Jetrall looked up towards the grinning face of the Lord of Terror, the rotting teeth protruding at odd angles over his jaw, dripping with saliva. There was nothing but hate in his glaring eyes.

"It is pitiful how you cry. Worry not; for soon you shall join her"

Diablo pitched back, his biceps straining to conjure the final flame of death within his chest. With a pillar-shattering bellow, he released the flame of hell at the mourning warrior…

**CHAPTER ONE**

"Today you are no longer the young men who train hour upon hour to defeat the powers of darkness in this world. Today you cease to exist as just a Barbarian. You are Warriors of Harrogath!"

Despite his size, Qual-Kehk had to shout over the fire and smashing of iron to be heard. It was the Warrior's Ceremony of Passage – the glorious day when students of the Mount Arreat Soldier's Guild were enlisted into the military and enabled to serve for their home. He smiled as his graduates chanted back in unison,

"It is a warrior's duty to honour his father's name on the field! It is a warrior's place to be with his comrades! A warrior does nothing for himself and fears only for his family! We are warriors!"

Jetrall could feel his chest swelling with pride against his polished breastplate. He could see his mother and sister in the crowd. He grinned at them, showing off his large canines as they waved, but his smile subsided when he saw the lonely flagpole beside them. _My father should be there_. Qual-Kehk reached Jetrall and put out his hand. Jetrall took it in his own and refrained from squeezing as the hot iron symbol was pressed into his other palm.

"It's been fine working with you, Jet."

"The same, Old Man."

"Perhaps so," chuckled Qual-Kehk. Now that he was closer, the wrinkles of his age seemed more pronounced. White hair blew across his forehead over his tense brows.

A horn blew amongst the banners and the crowd cheered. The ceremony was over. The new soldiers roared and threw their fists into the air.

Jetrall and two of his classmates, Tauron and Kolneitshik, sat cross-legged upon the decorative rug. They looked around the hut trying to recognize the origins of some of the strange relics the old man possessed. There were spears from the Amazonian Jungle, where women of immense physical power were said to rule. A Druid's wolf cap rumoured to transform its bearer into a great beast with a terrifying howl and a lethal bite. Many were obscure in their history however. A grotesque purple head with fangs and a drooping tongue sat upon a shelf in the far corner of the room.

Nihlathak entered and, for his age, moved quickly across the room. He sat in a short chair made of wood that faced the warriors on the floor and paralleled the table between them.

"Well then. It now falls upon me to assign you ranks and assignments. What a joy! I shall try to make it quick and painless for us all."

The warriors were unsure how to respond. Tauron chuckled nervously.

"Yes, why _don't_ we start with you, Master Pock."

Tauron started to answer, but decided that it was best to hold his tongue.

"You have been awarded the rank of Cohort Leader and will be serving in the Arreat Guard. The duties of course will be to lead a Cohort of 80 men in battle against any dark force opposing our Homelands. You will be reporting to Legate Commander Jarekxz."

Kolneitshik sarcastically pretended to hold in his smirk. Tauron squinted one eye at him in a look of mock disgust and mimicked vomiting."

"Quite tasteful," remarked Nihlathak. "Tribunal Consul Yaretz, you have been given a special assignment off mountain."

Jetrall beamed with self-assured cockiness over his comrades. Tribunal Consul was the second highest rank awarded to a new graduate of the Warrior's Guild. But an off mountain assignment meant that he would not be working with his friends.

"What crisis needs a Mount Arreat Warrior to abandon his people?"

"You are not going to abandon us!" Nihlathak's voice broke as he strained to stand above the seated warrior. "You are going to save us all, if you can. In the Blood Highland there is a rogue encampment that has been reporting great upheavals of demons. Re-animated corpses prowl outside the camp with Fallen and other ghastly creatures – some of which have never been seen before. It seems at least one of the Prime-Evils has returned as has been spreading from the North through the lands bringing death and destruction with him. I only hope that the Lord of the Destruction can be stopped before he reaches our mountain!"

He sat down heavily, exhausted from the speech. His hand reached up to his temple and he rested his skull upon it. The lines in his face seeming barely to hold up the shroud of a great man over his tired bones. As Jetrall digested the information, a strange cold ran up the back of his spine as if a sudden frost were spreading across a plain.

"If it is what's best for my family, and for yours," he began, "I will do anything."

He carried with him his bare essentials. A warrior needs not carry rations; he can provide for himself. A small buckler was tied to one arm with a slipknot, which would hold the shield in place until it could no longer serve him. The buckler was the same given to his father when he had become strong enough to carry it. His other hand sported an axe with a curved handle. He wore a mail skirt, crude rabbit-skin boots, and a tanned leather shoulder-belt, meant to carry small items and trinkets. As he made his way down the long path, bordered on each side by large evergreen trees, he recounted Nihlathak's words. _The Lord of Destruction_. Surely he was not speaking of Baal; brother of Diablo and Mephisto, and one of the three prime-evils that had brought unimaginable horrors to the world in ages past.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hail of spikes that shot out from the trees at him. Instinctively, he raised his shield to protect his head and arms, but a large spine skimmed across his knee, drawing blood. Immediately, he sprung into action. His axe came down upon one of the creatures before it could fire another volley towards him as his foot crushed the second animal's skull with a satisfying crunch. The quill rats lay at his feet, in small pools of blue-grey blood. Their barbs contained a mild poison, but Jetrall could walk – at least until he reached the rogue camp. He reached down and dipped his fingers into his first kill's blood and spread the blue liquid down his face, crossing his right eye. He roared fiercely.

"Beware foul demons and beasts!"


End file.
